The Careless Corroborator
by TheApprehensiveArtist
Summary: This is my first case fic - Lots of deductions. Lestrade receives a puzzling case that he can't quite seem to piece together. After getting a call that puts a significant amount of pressure on the detective inspector to solve the case quickly, he reaches out to the consulting detective for help. Can Sherlock solve the case in time? Can you identify the killer after just Ch.1?
1. Chapter 1

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade pressed the palms of his hands into his drowsy eyes. _Christ…_ He thought to himself. He pulled his hands from his eyes and blinked a few times, trying to will his exhaustion away.

Earlier that evening, Lestrade had been sitting at his desk in his office at New Scotland Yard, filling out copious amounts of paperwork related to a case involving the arrest of a notorious gang of bank robbers. For once, he hadn't needed Sherlock Holmes' assistance with the case, and he sat back in his chair, silently pleased at his success. He could only imagine that Sherlock, if he were present, would probably be complaining that the DI hadn't been able to catch the criminals sooner, spewing off some baffling deductions that would have led to a more timely arrest. This would most assuredly be followed by a litany of insults and complaints about the incompetency of NSY. Lestrade had tried to push the thought from his mind when police sergeant Sally Donovan entered his office.

"Sir, there's been a body found in Bethnal Green, in an alley." She announced upon her entrance.

Lestrade had sighed. He'd been close to the end of his shift, but a dead body could not wait and could not be ignored.

Now, Lestrade took in the scene in front of him, trying to make sense of the evidence.

A young man, 29 years of age, had been found in an alleyway earlier in the evening by a group of young women who were drunkenly trying to find their way home. Confusedly, one of the women had stumbled into the alley, insisting that it was a shortcut. As her friends followed her into the alley, one of them became sick and vomited next to a dumpster where, to her horror, she found the body of Nicholas Simon. Simon had been shot in the chest.

As the police secured the alleyway and closed off the adjoining street, Lestrade had arrived on scene with the forensics team and they immediately got to work at trying to piece together the sequence of events that had led to the man's unfortunate death that night.

Lestrade examined the body. It seemed that Nicholas had been in a panic, running from someone or something just before his death. His jumper was on inside out and backwards, his belt was buckled, but his pants were unbuttoned, and his shoes were untied. Lestrade noted the information, but didn't see how it would serve a purpose in solving the man's murder. In Lestrade's mind, it just showed that the man knew his attacker and was afraid of him, trying to escape him without even being able to dress himself first. The fact that he was shot in the chest also indicated that he would've been facing whoever had shot him.

After several hours, the police had collected statements from the drunken women, and many interviews from witnesses claiming to have seen the victim running down the street in the moments before he disappeared into the alleyway. An older couple, who had been out for an evening stroll, stated that they saw the victim run by them like a 'sack of monkeys', whatever that means… Another witness remembered seeing the victim running away because of the visible tag showing on the man's jumper. A neighbor, whose flat overlooked the alley, claimed to have heard a gunshot, but didn't see anyone in the alley when she looked out her window, the body being hidden behind the dumpster.

Lestrade was waiting for CCTV tapes so that they might be able to catch the murderer's face as they entered the alley. That information was still being collected and sorted, though.

As Lestrade was reviewing the information he'd collected in his head, his mobile phone rang in his pocket. Upon a quick glance at the caller ID, he answered, seeing that it was the Chief Superintendent.

"Hello?"

"Lestrade, it's me, Steve."

"Yeah, hello. What's going on?" Lestrade knew that if his boss was calling him, he was about to get information that was probably going to complicate his current case.

"That boy you found tonight, Nicholas Simon?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, apparently his next of kin have been notified. I guess he's a distant cousin of one of the Cabinet members. The Press is likely going to get involved, once the news gets out and I've already received a call from a member of the government. He was… encouraging me to insure that this case is solved as quickly as possible as there is considerable concern that this incident is going to bring unwanted attention to a person of note. Something tells me that if we don't get this thing figured out swiftly, there is a potential for some… interference, if you catch my drift. "

Lestrade could only imagine what sort of interference a Cabinet member could cause… suddenly, the thought of a certain man in a three-piece suit appeared in his head and he shuddered.

"Right…" he muttered, a bit bewildered. He knew his boss was deliberately being vague, refusing to use names and leaving out bits of information, but the message was clear. Solve the case as fast as possible, avoiding the press, so that the Cabinet member receives little attention.

"Well, we've got our best team on it, sir. I'm sure we'll have it figured out in no time." Greg tried his best to sound optimistic, but he knew that there were currently no leads.

"Good. I'm counting on you, Lestrade," Replied the Chief Superintendent, "I'll let you go so you can get back to work."

"Thanks. Bye now." Lestrade hung up his phone and sighed. He knew if he had any chance of solving this in a timely fashion, he was going to need to ask one tall, dark haired, consulting detective for help.

As he made his way out of the alley and towards Sergeant Donovan, he took out his phone and called Sherlock.

The phone rang, but there was no answer. _Shit._

He tried calling John, but there was also no answer.

Lestrade took a peek at his watch. Well, it was 3AM. What did he expect?

He sent a text to both men, and then told Donovan to get the scene cleared up and the body to the morgue. They needed the street open again before the morning rush, or else it would draw even more attention to the case.


	2. Chapter 2

Something roused his body back to consciousness. He wasn't sure what it was yet, so he continued to lie on his bed, comfortably sprawled out on his back under a thin blanket. He kept his eyes shut, momentarily cherishing the quiet peace that surrounded him. Even so, he strained his ears and took a deep breath through his nose, just to make sure that he hadn't been subconsciously awoken by the sounds of a burglar or the smell of smoke.

For once, he had slept well. No nightmares, no panic attacks. It was refreshing to wake to something other than a pillow drenched in sweat. After a few moments, John started to drift back to sleep, not sensing any sort of danger. That's when he heard it.

"John?" a deep, baritone voice echoed up the stairs and into his bedroom.

John's eyes flashed open. "Oh, Sherlock…" he sighed to himself. He blinked a few times and glanced over at his nightstand to see the red numbers staring back at him. 7:24 A.M. He had surprisingly gotten close to seven hours of sleep last night, which was practically unheard of considering his dangerous lifestyle, inconsistent schedule, and eccentric flat mate. He pulled himself up to a sitting position, slid his feet into his slippers, and finally made his way for the bedroom door. He slowly made his way down the stairs and, upon not seeing a client or Sherlock in the living area, went straight to the kitchen, intending to make coffee before dealing with whatever it was that Sherlock wanted.

He had just hit "Brew" on the coffee maker when the well-dressed detective barged into the kitchen, presumably from his bedroom, and swiftly unplugged the coffee maker, mumbling incoherently to himself, before walking into the living area to study a computer screen.

John was wide-awake now, feeling a righteous anger stir in his chest.

"What the HELL, Sherlock?" John yelled, promptly plugging the coffee maker back into the wall.

"No!" Sherlock protested, making his way back into the kitchen to try to unplug the coffee maker. John stood in his way and prevented him from gaining access to the machine. Sherlock repeatedly attempted to step around the shorter man.

"John, we've no time to waste. There's a case, Lestrade's texted us the details."

John had his arms angrily crossed on his chest and he sniffed.

Sherlock referred to this action of sniffing as John's 'rage sniff'. Sherlock had catalogued this behavior, along with several others, to serve as sorts of emotional markers to help Sherlock determine someone's mood. Seeing the sniff indicated that John was unquestionably angry and anyone around him should approach him with caution. Upon witnessing the sniff, Sherlock sighed and backed off. He tried changing tactics.

"John, based on your typical routine, I have calculated that it is going to take you 5 minutes to shower and brush your teeth, another 5 minutes to pick out and change into fresh clothing, though I don't understand why that will take you so long, as your closet is literally just jumpers and jeans, and then approximately another 3 minutes for you to 'check over things', as you so eloquently put it, before we leave so that the flat doesn't burn down in our absence. That's 13 minutes! Add another 19 minutes, factoring traffic, to get to the morgue via taxi and another 2 minutes that we've wasted on this pointless argument, and that's a total of 34 minutes of wasted time that could've been spent solving a murder."

Sherlock had blazed through his calculation at lightning speed, accenting certain syllables and drawing out certain words, only pausing for breath once or twice. His annoyance was clear, as was his eagerness to get moving. John was always impressed at Sherlock's ability to speak so fluently and speedily without so much as a stutter, but he held his tongue now. Instead, he had an idea.

"Well then, while I'm getting ready, why don't you put my coffee in a travel mug and I'll drink it while we're in the cab?" John smirked at Sherlock's impatient consideration of the question.

He finally blurted out a hasty "Fine." He pushed John out of the way in the direction of the bathroom.

John smirked to himself and called back to his flat mate, "Don't forget to add milk!"

Sherlock responded with an angry grown before yelling, "GO!"

John smiled and went on to get ready.


	3. Chapter 3

Once they had finally arrived at the morgue, Molly Hooper had a body laid out on a slab for Sherlock to investigate and Lestrade had explained that he was under a lot of pressure to find the killer. It was quiet now, as John and Sherlock examined the body, bullet wound, and the case file that contained pictures of the crime scene, official police report, and witness statements. After several minutes, Sherlock took off his gloves and closed his tiny microscope that he carried with him. John, Molly, and Lestrade momentarily stared at the man in anticipation.

"What do you got?" Lestrade asked.

"Not much more than what you've told me, I'm afraid." He pulled out his phone. Lestrade couldn't help but assume that the action indicated the man's indifference to the problem at hand and sighed, trying not to let his annoyance show.

"A single bullet to the chest killed the victim, clearly a drug addict, going by the bruises on his left forearm. Judging by the size of the bullet hole, I'm guessing that the shooter used a small pistol, perhaps something like a .22 caliber pistol, which could be concealed easily to hide their intent. Since the weapon hasn't been found yet, the killer has either mistakenly kept it, or has discarded it somewhere. Since the victim was shot in the chest, he was facing his killer, so they knew each other; perhaps the killer was a relative or co-worker. Also, I've seen this face before…"

Sherlock paused for a moment before showing his phone screen to the others in the room.

"Yes, this man is known to be an active member of a drug smuggling group. The Americans have been after the man for some years now. He was probably killed due to his inability to make a delivery on time. The killer was likely a hired assassin, and had tried to sneak up on the victim, but somehow made an error. My guess is that the assassin knew Nicholas personally, and wanted to see his face when he was murdered. That was his mistake. Nicholas was able to try and make a hasty escape, as noted by his disheveled appearance. You could try to find a connection between Nicholas and one of his acquaintances to see whom else knew about the smuggling operation, or try to see if there are any unexpected fingerprints in Nicholas's flat. I doubt you'll find anything though; this is probably not our killer's first hit. He knew how to evade CCTV, as well. However, based on these witness statements, you've already met your killer. I don't know why you called me at all." Sherlock was starting to head out the door but John gently grabbed his arm, holding him back.

"Hang on, you mean to say that one of these witnesses is the killer?" Greg asked incredulously, picking up the witness statements and reviewing them.

"Obviously." Sherlock scowled.

John sighed. "How is it obvious? Take us through it."

Sherlock flashed a tiny grin before he took a breath and began his deduction.

"As ever, you see but you do not observe. Look at the picture of the body on the night that Nicholas was killed. His jumper – it's inside out _and_ backwards. That means the tag of the jumper would've been on his chest, not on his back. Now, who was the only witness who said anything about Nicholas's clothes? Noah Patrick." He said, pointing to the man's witness statement.

"Well, just because he saw the tag, doesn't mean that he murdered him!" Lestrade objected.

John and Molly smirked. They seemed to have caught on to the inconsistency, but Lestrade hadn't yet. Sherlock finished.

"Noah Patrick said that he saw the victim running away specifically because he saw the man's tag on his jumper. That's assuming that the victim was just wearing his jumper inside out. But we know that he was also wearing the jumper backwards as well, so his statement is impossible. If he saw the man's tag on his jumper, how could he be running away?" Sherlock stopped here for a breath, gesturing with his hands as he continued to illustrate the rest of his explanation.

"If we know the man's tag was on his chest, and Noah saw the tag, than he had to have been facing Nicholas that night. Noah is a liar, and worse, he stayed at the crime scene and gave a false witness statement because he was pleased with his work. A shame, he probably would've gotten away with it had he just left after killing Nicholas. Idiot. Get a warrant, search his apartment for the pistol, and arrest him, inspector."

Greg looked to the ceiling and took a deep breath.

"Amazing." Muttered John.

"Yeah, amazing…" muttered Greg.

And with that, Sherlock turned on his heel with his blogger in tow, leaving the gaping detective and the impressed pathologist behind.


End file.
